Some Very Milledgeville Disability-Related Moments

Kickin' it Old School, Briefly

As many of you know, Hot and Disabled has branched out from talking near-exclusively about disability in life and media to life-and-media in general, offering thoughts and observations both on culture and, hopefully, on building a bridge between specifically-chosen instances in my life and larger considerations. This expansion took place because, despite the infrastructure issues with Milledgeville and its oppressive driving culture, I don’t have to accept “someone tells me to go to a river in Nigeria in order to heal my disability” or “a stranger makes me take off my headphones to show me ‘information’ she just googled about botox and cerebral palsy” as part of my daily life. (The irony that disability was a thing to contend with in Progressive San Francisco in a way it hasn’t been here in Central Georgia is something I’ll never quite get used to.)

Got a trip down memory lane on Monday afternoon, though, followed by, I’m pleased to report, an ultimately-heartening event yesterday. On Monday, I finished my Office Hours at noon as scheduled, elated because a student had actually dropped in, and headed for (as is my weekly routine) the shuttle stop, a must for getting to the gym.

On the way to the stop, a man passing by said, “One day, I’m gonna interview you.”

The bus had pulled up, but I couldn’t let this go with silent bristling. I asked, “Why is that?”

“Because I think you’re the bravest person in Milledgeville,” he told me.

Anyone who has a visible disability will tell you that one of the most common forms of complimentary condecension we recieve is being called “brave” for living ordinary life. But I hadn’t dealt with it in years.

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“I see you crossing the road sometimes,” he answered.

“I literally don’t drive,” I said. “I can’t. What choice do I have? I have to get to work. I have things I need to do. What am I supposed to do instead, not leave my house?”

“I didn’t mean it condescendingly,” he informed me (no one who calls you “brave” ever does, after all it’s a compliment, right?). He added, “I think I’m brave for crossing the roads.”

I admit that won me over. Milledgeville drivers tend to be a hair’s breadth away from manslaughter at any given hour. (Ian is a cyclist who bikes to work, if you wanna talk brave.)

He said “We’re all human beings, right?” and I agreed and got on the bus. I’m both embarrassed and grateful to say that the bus driver had waited. “I’m sorry,” I said to her and the 2-or-3 student passengers. “I had to give this guy a talkin-to.”

Yesterday, on my walk home, someone honked madly at me as I was calmly crossing the street, even though the sign was still inviting pedestrains to cross. Having had an emotionally exhausting day on Tuesday and a physically exhuasting day yesterday, I did not have it in me to fight the impatient driver. I walked on in uncharacteritic silence.

“HEY, what’s your problem, she’s WALKING,” a woman yelled out her window. “CAN’T YOU SEE THE PERSON WALKING, what’s WRONG with you?!”

By that point, I’d reached the other side of the street, but I turned back around and grinned. “They’re like that,” I called in response. “I usually say something but I didn’t have it in me.”

“We got you today, honey!” the woman said, as her (presumed) husband smiled out the window at me.

I thanked her with true gratitude and finished my walk home.